


Charlie Moves On

by TrashcanGod



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Borderline Charlie, Borderline Personality Disorder, Charlie Kelly has ADHD, Dyslexia, Gen, Growth, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, OR IS IT, Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships, i will write all of my faves who fit the criteria as people with bpd and no one can stop me, i'm just really concerned about charlie kelly okay, warning for uncle jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashcanGod/pseuds/TrashcanGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie has two options: he can back off and retreat back to the predetermined role that he’s been hiding behind for years, or he can take his nail-adorned rat stick and bash the shit out of it until there’s nothing left.<br/>He knows exactly what he wants. He wants to get better.</p><p>(In which Charlie Kelly has had enough of being the dumb one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This started up as a short self-indulgent fic about Charlie standing up for himself but then suddenly I'd written four chapters of emotions.

Charlie knows his place. He's there to clean up his friends’ messes; he's there to fuck shit up for better or for worse. He’s the stupid one who everyone can make fun of because sure they’re all idiots, but at least they can read. At least they aren’t Charlie.

He doesn’t really get it, to be honest. He can be simple-minded, absolutely, but he’s not unintelligent by any means. And it’s not that he just _can’t read_ —he knows letters and what sounds they make and “i before e except after c”—it’s just that if you put a string of them together, he can’t really keep them all straight. (He told Mac about it once, but he just said, “That literally means you can’t read, Charlie,” and moved on. Mac is a dumbass, though, so Charlie wasn’t surprised.)   


His mother knew. She used to tell people about him when he was a kid, saying her boy was “much smarter than he looks, really, he’s just a little different,” but no one wanted to listen to a whore bragging about her bastard son. Uncle Jack was the only one who believed it, and at first, Charlie loved him for that. He would tell Uncle Jack all about dinosaurs and Egypt and how hieroglyphics seemed so much better than the alphabet, and Uncle Jack would listen and give Charlie the gold stars that his teachers always withheld. Uncle Jack started finding new ways of rewarding Charlie, though, and he didn’t like them nearly as much as he liked the stickers. He stopped saying smart things then, because he’d rather let people think he’s stupid than get rewards like Uncle Jack’s.

(Charlie still has a green folder covered in little gold stars. Sometimes he sees it in his closet and feels sick to his stomach, because a part of him thinks that he could’ve gotten better if not for Jack, and that part of him loathes the disgusting son of a bitch.)

He thinks that Frank can tell because, similarly, Frank is a bit more aware than people think. He sees Charlie solve problems in ways no one else would have even thought of, and listens to Charlie spill out his thoughts when he can’t sleep and is half delirious with exhaustion. The first time, when he was absentmindedly musing over the possibilities of alternate dimensions, Frank probably just chalked it up to Charlie repeating something he heard on TV. A few nights later, though, when Charlie rambled about the questionable existence of god and wondered about what could have motivated someone to make up the complexities of a whole religion, Frank seemed to just accept it and move on.

Frank has become an oasis of acceptance in the midst of the gang’s constant discord. He comes closest to recognizing what Charlie does for them, thanking him for his hard work even if he admittedly isn’t even sure of what it is that he did.  He’s apparently told Artemis about it, too, turning her into an unexpected ally who’s willing to go as far as transcribing an entire goddamn musical that Charlie churned out on a whim. (She told him that she has a cousin with something called dyslexia, and that she’s pretty sure he has it too, especially after he told her what he’d told Mac. He might’ve cried a little. Only a little.)

Charlie has come to learn that approval can be something other than gold stars and bad touches, and he’s decided that he fucking deserves it.

 

* * *

 

 It’s a Tuesday evening at Paddy’s with as little traffic as usual, and Charlie is cleaning the booths and trying to ignore Dee sarcastically teasing, “Charlie didn’t turn the closed sign on again, did he?” He would be touched by the way Dennis and Mac tell her to shut up if he didn’t know that they would have done so whether Charlie was involved or not.

“Charlie, why are you cleaning the booths? No one’s sat in that one in days, you’re wasting supplies.”

He wants to tell Dennis that no one sitting there means dust accumulating and that wiping it off with a rag doesn’t use up anything but his own energy, but he won’t. His friends made a role for him, and it’s not his place to go against that and risk throwing off the fragile balance of their group. So he chokes down his explanation and shrugs instead. “Just needed somethin’ to do, I guess.”

Mac, Dennis, and Dee are all seated at the bar, with the expanse of the room between themselves and Charlie. He tries not to think about the symbolism.

Mac snorts, and Charlie already feels his blood starting to simmer. “Yeah, well if you need something to do so bad, how about you fix that toilet in the men’s restroom that’s been busted for two days?”

“Oh, oh that?” Charlie can’t resist the sarcasm that leaks into his voice. “You mean the one you broke with your protein powder shits that you’re probably just gonna break again right after I fix it? Sure, Mac, lemme just fix that right up for you.”

Dennis and Dee gape in amusement, while Mac at least has the self-awareness to look affronted. “Whoa, hey, what’re you trying to say?”

There are two options here: Charlie can back off and retreat back to the predetermined role that he’s been hiding behind for years, or he can take his nail-adorned rat stick and bash the shit out of it until there’s nothing left. There would be no gold stars or touches, only the satisfaction of seeing his so-called-friends’ faces while he burns down the very image they have of him.

He knows what he wants.

He stands up, rag still in hand, jaw set, and he can tell by their faces that they already know that something’s up. Something is different this time: Charlie is fed up with their bullshit.

“I’ll tell you what I’m trying to say, Mac. I’ll tell all three of you assholes  _ exactly  _ what I’m trying to say.” Dennis and Dee don’t look amused anymore.  _ Good,  _ Charlie thinks,  _ if there’s one time for you guys to actually take me seriously, it’s right now. _

“Here’s the thing,” Charlie says, and his usually pitched and yelling voice has taken a low serious tone that chills even himself. “You guys don’t know me. You act like you do, but all you know is the character you made up and put in my place. I’m the stupid one to you guys, the one who’s only good for manual labor and laughs.” Dennis opens his mouth, but Charlie points at him and interrupts, “And don’t you fucking dare say ‘but you  _ are  _ the stupid one,’ because I promise you that I’m not.”

Dennis’s jaw clicks shut. Charlie’s pretty sure they didn’t think he even knew the term “manual labor,” so he gives them a second to get over that bump in the road before continuing. “I know that I’m weird, believe me, I think about it every goddamn day, but if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s stupid. You know what am? Well for one thing, I’m dyslexic, not illiterate.” He soaks in the revelation that’s evident on all of their faces, and basks in the little slivers of guilt he can see emerging. “And I’m certainly not your personal janitor. In fact, I’m the only goddamn reason this bar hasn’t been shut down for all of our health code violations!”

He starts to step closer as he continues, steadily closing the gap between himself and the others. They shrink back a bit. “I’ve been doing so much shit for you guys, and I’m tired of playing dumb just because you expect me to!” His voice is rising back up to its usual timbre. “So I’m done. I’m done doing Charlie Work, I’m done being the village idiot, and I’m done taking your shit!”

Silence. There are only a few feet between Charlie and his shocked audience. He takes a couple of deep breaths, then unceremoniously drops his rag at their feet.

“Good luck running the bar without me.”

He turns on his heel and slams the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t until Charlie is by the door of his apartment that what he did really hits him.  _ Oh god oh shit what have I done what have I done I lost my friends what do I do fuck shit fuck.  _ He unsteadily pulls out his phone and taps on Artemis in his contacts (listed as “theatre emoji, winky face, thumbs up”). He wrings his free hand in his green shirt, his favorite shirt, the one he repurposed after the crippled veteran scheme back when Dennis ran him over and  _ oh god Dennis is gonna run me over again isn’t he he’s gonna be mad as hell, fuck, okay new plan, don’t think of the gang, don’t think of the gang... _

“You’ve reached Artemis Dubois.” An ever-dramatic voice interrupts Charlie’s downward spiral into panic.

“Uh, hey, Artemis,” he chokes out, leaning one shoulder against the grimy wall. “Do you think you could maybe come to my apartment real quick? I, uh—” He takes a deep shuddering breath. “Could you?”

“Oh I’m al—” her voice merges with a closer and less grainy version of itself as Charlie’s door opens, “—ready here.” Artemis hangs up the phone and worriedly examines Charlie’s shaking frame and panicked eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Wha—why are you in my apartment?” He clumsily stuffs his phone in his pocket and realizes how shaky his hands are.

“It doesn’t matter.” She quickly turns her head inside and yells, “Frank, put the carrots away,” then turns back to Charlie, who’s still holding himself up against the wall. “What happened?”

  
Tears spring to Charlie’s eyes as he stumbles forward and whimpers, “I think I just broke up with the gang.”


	2. II.

Artemis gives Charlie no option but to accept her help. After all, as Frank explains with Charlie sandwiched between the two of them on the edge of the bed, those three will probably knocking on their door looking for Charlie every day once they realize he’s not coming back.

Charlie nods at that, because he’s  _ not  _ going back. Instead, he goes with Artemis, who offers to let him sleep on her couch until he gets a job (which she also says she’ll help him with). He packs his pathetically lightweight bag with an odd sense of finality.

At Frank’s uncharacteristically helpful suggestion, he goes to visit his mom the next day. She cries a little bit, but she’s proud. “If my little gingerbread man wants to get better, then I’ll do everything I can to help.” Her eyes are glimmering, and she tenderly covers Charlie’s hand—which had been anxiously tapping on the kitchen table—with her own.

Charlie responds with an uneasy but grateful smile then awkwardly asks Mrs. Mac not to tell her son that he’d been there. She grunts in what he’s pretty sure is an affirmative. His mom offers to pay for a therapist, too, and Charlie isn’t so sure about that, but Artemis encourages him that evening and says that she knows some good people in the area, so he calls his mom back and they make an appointment for two weeks later.

The first appointment is just getting acquainted, so Artemis goes in with him. His therapist’s name is Martha, and she’s nice and has a friendly smile and doesn’t talk to Charlie like he’s an idiot. He tells her about his life with the gang, how they treated him and the pressure he felt all the time, and sinks into the couch when he admits that he’s an alcoholic and has been huffing anything he could get a high off of since he was a kid. Artemis points out that he hasn’t huffed once during the three weeks he’s lived with her, though, and Charlie feels an unfamiliar swell of pride.

He leaves out Uncle Jack and some of the more illegal (and/or terrible) things that he and his friends had gotten up to, but Martha gets most of the story.

“For one thing, you’re very strong to have broken yourself out of such a toxic environment.” She smiles sympathetically, and Charlie feels more satisfaction than a gold star ever could have given him. “For now, I’ll recommend starting out with one appointment a week, then we can space them out later on. And beside that,” she leans forward a bit and drops her voice a bit to a more serious tone, “I’d recommend attending AA meetings regularly. I can’t make you if you don’t want to, but I really feel like it could benefit you.”

Charlie nods, and they make more appointments. When he gets back to Artemis’s, he drinks one bottle of beer and then only has water for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

Charlie has become determined to wean himself off of alcohol, to prove that he can if nothing else, but he reaches his third appointment and still finds himself needing at least four beers a day. He’s not constantly drunk anymore, at least, which is actually kind of scary because he’s forgotten what he’s like sober. He forgot how nervous he gets and how unsure of himself he can be; he’s terrified to get to the point where he isn’t even a little buzzed.

Martha is proud of him nonetheless, and she tells him about how AA meetings could help him along. He’s still hesitant, but Artemis encourages him, and argues heatedly with Frank that evening, who argues that not drinking would make Charlie boring. Charlie tells Frank to go fuck himself and gives Artemis a creased sheet of paper with the schedule on it.

Charlie attends his first AA meeting the next day. It takes him a good five minutes to even get out of the car (Artemis is just doing her nails and smoking, so she doesn’t seem to mind). After an internal pep talk, he carries himself to the entrance, opens the door, sees the waitress, and instantly turns to leave. But Artemis gives him a thumbs up from the car, and god, he’s so close.  _ Just do it Charlie, you can handle this.  _ He squeezes his eyes shut and takes deep breaths like Martha taught him, then hesitantly enters the room.

Unfortunately, there are only 15 or 20 people there, so he has no hope of hiding in the crowd. Instead, he sits a few rows away from Waitress and pushes down every urge he has to talk to her.

_ No means no, Charlie, remember what Martha told you. You don’t make people like you that way, they’ll just think you’re weird and creepy and you don’t wanna be a creepy weirdo so stay put and shut up. _

When the group leader starts the meeting by welcoming him, Charlie sees Waitress turn and stiffen out of the corner of his eye. He pointedly avoids eye contact and raises a hand in a lazy greeting. “Hey, uh, I’m Char— wait. No. Anonymous, right. I’ve, uh...  I've actually been to one of these things before, and it didn’t go too great, so. I’m trying again, I guess.” He shrugs with a tight-lipped smile, and ignores the way he can practically feel Waitress staring at him.

He manages to get through the entire meeting without looking at her once, and he nearly gets out without her catching him. He’s about to open the door when he hears, “Charlie!” and freezes instinctively.

Charlie winces and slowly turns around to see the waitress standing a few feet away, hip cocked and arms crossed. He notices that she’s wearing a blouse that really makes her eyes pop and  _ oh she did her hair differently, that looks really nice _ , but he mentally slaps himself and stops thinking about it.

Waitress is looking at him expectantly, so he squeaks out an uncomfortable and drawn out, “Heyyyy…”

“Did you follow me here?” It isn’t really phrased like a question. Charlie vehemently shakes his head, and she peers at him doubtingly. “Well the only reason you willingly set foot into one of these before is because a court ordered you to, so sorry if I don’t believe you.”

Charlie shrinks in a little bit at her tone because wow, she sounds way more scathing when he isn’t drunk. “My therapist told me to come,” he mumbles, and Waitress’s brows raise.

“You’re seeing a therapist?” She at least sounds a little less accusatory now, just a bit bewildered, so Charlie relaxes a little bit and stuffs his hands in his pockets to play with a quarter in one and a scrap of paper in the other.

“Yeah, I’ve only seen her a couple of times, but she’s cool.” Charlie smiles, and Waitress just looks kind of lost. As much as he’d love to continue the conversation, Charlie knows that he needs to hold himself back if he doesn’t want to be overbearing, so he just nods and says, “I gotta go, actually, so uh… See you later?”

Charlie places a hand on the door, but he waits for Waitress to respond. “Oh. Yeah,” she responds perplexedly. “See you, Charlie…”

Charlie grins and leaves, and realizes that this is the first somewhat normal conversation they’ve ever had. It’s far more fulfilling than any of their past interactions.

 

* * *

 

Charlie goes to another appointment on Monday for some tests, ones with shapes and puzzles (easy) and one where he has to tap the spacebar whenever a letter that wasn’t X came up on the monitor (not as easy). The tests are better than the tests he took in school, except for the spelling and math ones at the end.

“Pretty sure I bombed those last two,” he admits with a nervous laugh. Martha reassures him that he isn’t being graded and that it’s okay not to do well, and he feels a little better.

Charlie goes to another AA meeting the day after that. Waitress isn’t there, and he kind of wants to run and hide at the thought that he could have scared her off. He says as much at his follow-up appointment on Wednesday, and Martha rubs his back reassuringly while she lists other possible reasons for her to miss.

“Besides,” she says soothingly, “even if she stopped going just to avoid you, that’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything bad, right?” Charlie nods. “Maybe you can apologize for the past sometime. But for now, let’s just worry about the present.”

They continue the session, and Martha tells Charlie that the tests came back positive for both ADHD and dyslexia. “So this wasn’t very expansive and we’d have to take a proper test later to see if you do better with medication, but this indicates that you have an IQ around 135.”

Charlie stares blankly. “Uh, is that good…?”

“Yes, Charlie,” Martha laughs a little bit. "That places you in the gifted range, actually.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, so that… that means I’m smart?”

“An average score is between 90 and 110, a score considered to be superior intelligence is up to 120, genius is 140 and above, and you scored a 135 with untreated ADHD. So yes, you’re very smart.”

Charlie grins and laughs triumphantly. “Holy shit, I’m smart! I’m seriously smart, I’m not stupid!” He leans back in the couch with a dazed smile and nods to himself. “Take that, assholes.”

“Right, well, somewhat related to that last remark, let’s talk about some other diagnoses. Might as well get them all in one go.” Charlie looks at Martha curiously as she continues. “We’ve already talked about this a little, but I think I’ve seen you enough to properly diagnose you with generalized anxiety disorder. We’ll keep working on that in our future sessions, and I’ll teach you a lot ways to handle it. Okay?”

He swallows, reminding himself that this isn’t a bad thing, then nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“This next one is actually a bit of a tricky one, but I’m pretty confident in diagnosing you with borderline personality disorder.”

Charlie scrunches his brows at that. “But a doctor said Dennis has that, and I’m not like Dennis.” At least he hopes he isn’t like Dennis.

Martha nods understandingly. “Well, borderline is a pretty diverse condition. It affects everyone differently.” She reaches over to grab a thick book off her table, titled  _ BNS-5 _ or something like that. “This is the DSM-5.” Eh, he was close. “It’s a book that psychologists and psychiatrists use as reference.”

“Wait wait wait,” Charlie stops her and tries to recall what she’d told him last week. “Psychiatrists are the ones who do meds, right? And you’re the other one?”

“Right, good memory,” she nods. “So I’m going to read out of the DSM-5, and you’re going to tell me if the person I’m describing sounds like you. Is that okay?” Charlie nods, and she opens it up to a page she had marked with a sticky note. “Unstable or easily influenced self-image.”

_ Yeah, okay, probably… _

“Excessive self-criticism.”

_ Okay probably. _

“Difficulty recognizing other people’s feelings.”

Charlie shrugs inwardly.  _ Maybe, yeah. _

“Intense and unstable relationships, difficulty trusting others, avoidance of abandonment, and a habit of viewing people as either perfect or terrible.”

_ Okay so that’s pretty accurate. _

“Anxiety, unstable emotions, and frequent mood swings.”

_ Yup. _

“Fear of rejection, feelings of shame, and low self-worth.”

_ Yeah. _

“Impulsivity, unnecessarily risky behavior, hostility. Do you relate to this?”

_ Well then.  _ “Yeah, I, I guess I do…”

Martha nods and smiles. “Borderline is a hard disorder to live with, but lucky for you, it’s one of the fields I specialize in, so you don’t even have to worry about seeing someone else.” Charlie sighs in relief. “We already have an appointment set up for you to see Dr. Barnes tomorrow, so she’ll be taking care of medication. As for dyslexia, the only treatment for it is tutoring, so we can help you make an appointment with someone for that if you ever want to.”

Charlie leaves somehow feeling lighter than he felt going in. That evening, he downloads an audiobook about borderline personality disorder.

 

* * *

 

Charlie isn’t as comfortable with Dr. Barnes as he is with Martha, but she’s alright. She asks him how he’d feel about just doing meds for ADHD and working on the anxiety with therapy for a little longer before resorting to medicine, and he agrees (mostly because she’s a doctor and he figures she knows what she’s doing).

He takes his first dose of Adderall the next morning, and he decides that he really  _ really  _ likes it. His legs bounce less, he can actually keep a steady conversation, and he manages to watch an entire documentary about whales without getting restless. Frank talks to him on the phone that afternoon and says, “I know they’re good, but  _ make sure _ you don’t take extra. I know it’s tempting as hell, but they’re so damn strict on refilling those things that you’d run out and get caught in no time.” Frank giving actual good advice is pretty rare, so Charlie asks Artemis for her opinion, and only after she agrees does he take it to heart.

He’s a little early to the AA meeting that evening, and he smiles at Waitress when she comes in before quickly looking away.  _ Okay, this means she didn’t drop it because of me, that’s good.  _ Charlie is casually leaning back in the uncomfortable chair with his leg bouncing at a steadier pace than usual—less of a vibration, more of a rhythmic beat—and sits up a little in surprise when the waitress sits with only one chair between them. She sets her purse in the separating seat, probably to make sure he doesn’t come any closer.

There’s silence for a moment, then Charlie cautiously says, “Hi.”

Waitress seems to hesitate for a second. “Hello, Charlie.”

Charlie really doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do at that point, but then the meeting starts so he doesn’t have to say anything.  He manages to get through it only glancing over at Waitress once, but then break time comes and they’re both still sitting there and he really doesn’t know what to say. Should even he say anything? He’s starting to sweat and he doesn’t know if it’s anxiety or withdrawals.

Lucky for him, Waitress starts the conversation herself. “How’s therapy?” she asks impassively without even looking at him.

He glances at her, then returns his gaze to the front of the room. “Oh, it’s good. I started taking Adderall, actually, and I’m thinking about enrolling in some online classes, so... that’s good.” She nods, and there’s a beat of silence before Charlie continues, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye. “How’s, uh, waitressing?”

She blows air out in a small laugh, which Charlie takes as a success, and says, “Not a waitress anymore, actually. I got this retail job at the mall, it’s really shitty and the customers suck, but it pays alright. I guess you’re gonna have to call me Cashier or Sales Associate now.”

Charlie laughs lightly and relaxes in his seat. “Or I could just call you your name,” he suggests with a shrug. “Maybe. If you want.”

Waitress looks over at him with a bit of suspicion, and he pulls his lips up in an awkward almost-smile. She doesn’t say anything.

He takes a deep breath, then looks down at the floor and adds, “And, uh, I’m sorry for like, always being weird and stuff. Turns out I have some issues,” he ignores her little snort because yeah, he knows it was obvious, “but I’m working on ‘em. Really. So,” he sinks down in his seat and rushes out, “sorry about like stalking you and bothering you and not listening to you when you said no, turns out I have a problem with imprinting on people I like or something and I was a total weirdo so. Sorry.”

Charlie waits a second before glancing up to see the waitress watching him carefully. The slouching position he sunk into is really uncomfortable, but he doesn’t move until she finally responds. “I’ll forgive you as long as you never do it again.”

Charlie shoots back up with a smile. “Got it, I can do that! So, uh, friends?” She stares, and he hesitates sheepishly. “Acquaintances?” 

She considers that for a moment, then sighs lightheartedly. “Sure, Charlie. Acquaintances.” Charlie grins and they both return their attention to the front of the room while the group leader gets ready to continue. “It’s Mary, by the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know a damn thing about AA meetings.
> 
> Listen I know Charlie had an unnaturally easy time finding a therapist and getting dbt but I didn't wanna write the poor kid waiting for five months.
> 
> The adhd and dyslexia testing was actually based of the tests I took. The reflex test thing is part of the criteria for adhd (it's really fucking hard). They look for low scores in the IQ test too, but sometimes the patient will get a high score there but then their therapist will review it with what they know from past sessions and they can be like "nahnahnah this kid is just smart, they're still positive." (That happened to me and I didn't know that they could change it so I was hella stressed about it for a while.)  
> The spelling and math parts are called "core achievement testing" or something, and that's for dyslexia; if your IQ is way higher than your core achievement score, then they take that as a big neon sign that says DYSLEXIA (which you can't personally read lmao).
> 
> I know it seems like Mary forgave Charlie unrealistically easily, but just remember that when she got paid to have dinner with him, as soon as he made it evident that he wasn't gonna be weird she just casually started talking and rambling.


	3. III.

It turns out to be challenging to find a place that’s hiring that Charlie isn’t banned from, but he talks to Mary at about it at one of the meetings (she won’t talk to him outside of them yet) and she mentions that she knows a little bookstore that only has two people working and really needs some more help. He goes there first thing the next day and meets the owner, a nice old lady who smells like flowers, and her single employee, her teen grandson who’s only there because the salary is above minimum wage. Charlie chats with the woman for a while, and he starts work the next day.

His job at the bookstore turns out to be perfect. The stream of customers is steady enough to keep him from getting too bored, but low enough to keep him from being overwhelmed. Barbara (the owner) knows that his dyslexia makes it kind of hard for him to count money, so Charlie works the floor while her grandson—Wesley, who probably doesn’t want to work the floor anyway—stays at the counter. That works for Charlie, because it lets him practice reading when he doesn’t have anything else to do.

“So you can’t read?” Wesley asks from behind the counter one day.

Charlie looks up from the cookbook he’s been oh-so-slowly working through today. “Nah, I have dyslexia. Been doing therapy, though.”

Wesley just nods noncommittally. “Cool.”

With his mom willing to help, Charlie gets his own apartment a couple of weeks later, a place he’s been eying that’s within walking distance of the bookstore, his therapist, and a bus stop that can get him to AA meetings and the grocery store. Artemis gives him a dramatic and tearful goodbye in which she leans out her window and waves a handkerchief as he leaves.

The new apartment is infinitely better than his old shithole, and it came pre-furnished, so all he has to buy is food (and maybe some more clothes). He tells Frank about it on the phone, but he can feel the judgement at the fact that he’s moved on from his life of squalor. He decides that Frank is a little bitch who just can’t be happy for him, so he tells Mary instead.

“I guess the job is working out then?” She actually sits next to him now that he’s proven that he’ll keep his hands to himself.

“Yeah, thanks for telling me about it! The owner’s super nice and I’m working on reading and it’s close to my new place and yeah it’s great!” Mary smiles, and Charlie adds, “Plus I don’t think Dennis, Mac, or Dee would ever go to an independent bookstore on the other side of town, so that’s good.”

He’s never really told Mary about his falling out with the gang, and she never asks. Instead, she nods and goes back to the subject of his apartment. “So what was that thing about buying clothes?”

“Oh, well,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I actually only have like four things that I just wash and mend and stuff...? I need to buy more now that I’m doing the whole normal person thing, but yeah, I just gotta get around to it.”

Mary nods and thinks for a moment. “You want any help? With the shopping thing?”

Charlie sits up straighter. “Seriously, you’d do that?”

She shrugs. “I mean, you’d probably just get lost at the mall on our own. Plus I have an employee discount, so I might as well.”

Charlie grins and feigns relief. “Thank god, I was afraid I’d have to invite Artemis or my mom, and who knows what they’d put me in.”

Mary smiles amusedly and holds out her hand. “Gimme your cellphone.” She finds his number in his address book and copies it to her own, then makes a contact for herself and asks, “Are you free on Sunday?” He nods, and she hands back his phone. “I’ll text you then and we can decide on the when and where.”

“Cool, thanks!”

Charlie gives her a lopsided grin, and she smiles in return before adding, “And this  _ isn’t  _ a date. Got it?”

Charlie, whose old crush was probably more of an emotional attachment mixed with general desperation now that he really thinks about it, nods and shoots her a finger gun. “Gotcha. Just a couple of friendly acquaintances hanging out.”

Mary smiles and leans back in her seat. “I think that having my phone number means you’ve graduated to ‘friend’ now.”

Charlie feels warm and fuzzy inside, and a cheer echoes through his apartment when he gets home.

 

* * *

 

Charlie’s good mood becomes rather sour the next morning. He sits up in his bed (a real bed, not a creaky uncomfortable foldout) at 9:30, takes a peek out his window to check on the potted tree he’d put on the fire escape, and reaches for his phone.

_ Two missed calls, one unread voicemail. _

Charlie squints in confusion. The number looks a little familiar, but the only people in his phone are Mary, his mom, the therapy place (and by extension, Martha), Artemis, Frank, the bookstore, and a pizza delivery joint, so anyone else is just a hard-to-read string of numbers.

He dials his voicemail, and his breath catches in his throat when the message starts.

_ “Hey Charlie, it’s… been a while.” _

Mac. It’s Mac, who was probably more drunk than usual when he made this call, because if Charlie knows one thing, it’s that Mac doesn’t just talk about his feelings like this. He throws off the covers and plants his feet on the hardwood floor.

_ “A long while. Like, two months. Man, we haven’t gone this long without talking since before we met… Shit, dude…”  _ There’s a static sigh, and Charlie tries to ignore his heart thumping in his ears and focus on his bare feet touching the cold floor. 

_ I just, uh… I don’t even know why I’m calling, actually.”   _ Mac laughs humorlessly and Charlie wants to cry.  _ “Paddy’s is doing okay, I guess. It’s kinda gross because I have to do most of the cleaning now, and I dunno if we’ll pass the next health inspection, but… Yeah. I hope you’re doin’ good too. I mean, you aren’t answering and it’s only midnight, so either you’re actually sleeping like a normal person or you’re like, dead or something. Hopefully not that.”  _

There’s a period of silence, and Charlie almost thinks that Mac fell asleep, but then he speaks up again.  _ “Miss you, buddy.”  _ Charlie drops his phone and it hits the floor before the concluding beep ends.

He stares at nothing for a while, breathing deeply and trying to push off the waves of panic. He almost wants to forgive Mac after that, to forgive all of them. He misses them; he misses Mac being stupid, and Dee’s good-natured nagging, and getting high with Dennis, and Frank’s borderline senility, and just sitting around with them shooting the shit and yelling over each other in a conversation only they could understand. He’s sure they would think he’s boring now, though—he’s stopped being so loud and reckless, he hasn’t gotten high since he left them, and he hasn’t had more than a single strawberry daiquiri in the last week. (He can’t stand beer anymore, the familiarity makes his stomach churn.) He’s gotten boring in his quest for stability, and he personally doesn’t mind it much, but he misses his friends.

Then he replays Mac’s message in his head, and he laughs wryly when he realizes that Mac didn’t apologize once. Leave it to those narcissistic dicks to not even acknowledge that they did anything wrong. Jesus christ, fuck them, honestly, Charlie is done with them and he’s not going back. Yeah he misses them, but he’s getting better now, and he’s not subjecting himself to their bullshit again.

It’s almost 10:30, and Charlie finally feels like he can get up. His shift starts in half an hour, so he internalizes his feelings to save them for later and gets dressed.

 

* * *

“How are you feeling today, Charlie?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I got a voicemail from Mac this morning. He sounded… upset.”

“And how did you feel?”

“I dunno. At first I was just really anxious and stuff, but then I felt sad and lonely, but then I realized that he didn’t even apologize so then I felt angry and lonely?”

“Still lonely, though?”

“Still lonely.”

“Do you have any plans to fix that?”

“Well, uh, I’m going shopping with Mary on Sunday? She offered to help me find some clothes.”

“See, that's great, Charlie. You’ve found a friend who doesn’t abuse you. That’s a very good thing.”

“Yeah… I miss them.”

“It’s okay to miss them. You were friends for a long time, it’d be unusual if you didn’t. Just don’t forget why you left.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie gets glasses on Saturday. Suddenly being able to see better turns out to be a real pick-me-up, so he feels alright come Sunday, which is a relief because Mary has already had to deal with his mopey ass at the AA meetings, and he doesn’t want to mess up their plans.

His phone dings at eleven while he’s stuffing the last few bites of pancakes in his mouth (he’s a damn good cook now) and watching another documentary. His phone displays the contact “coffee emoji, dress emoji, smiley face.”

_ f o o d   c o u r t   e n t r a n c e   @   2   ? _

He smiles appreciatively at the extra spaces, because he remembers mentioning to her a while back that it’s easier for him to read if there’s space between the letters. He presses the voice to text button and says, “Sounds good, see you there,” and he silently thanks modern technology as he finishes breakfast.

Mary is leaning against the wall when Charlie gets there, a jacket zipped up over her uniform polo and a purse hanging on her shoulder. Charlie jogs up to her after he hops off the bus. “Hey, sorry, you been waiting long?”

She shrugs and smiles. “Nah, my shift just ended. Did you get get glasses?”

Charlie grins and pushes the frames up on his nose. “Yup! You aren’t blurry anymore, so that’s cool.”

“Well that’s a relief, you’ll be able to see what we’re buying. Now let’s go get you some clothes so you don’t have to keep wearing that old green button up anymore.”

Mary pushes off the wall and heads toward the entrance, and Charlie follows with a mutter of, “I like my green shirt, I put patches on it and everything…”

They go to the store Mary works at first, because she has her discount and it’s a big place so chances are that Charlie can get everything there. Pants don’t take too long, because all he needs are a couple pairs of jeans and some slacks. He takes care of that part without much help, other than getting Mary to read the labels for him because “these brands really aren’t dyslexia-friendly, look at that font, honestly.”

Mary takes over when they get to shirts, because Charlie doesn’t know much beyond graphic tees. They manage to agree on flannels and some t-shirts, and she talks him into buying a nice button up.  _ This looks like something Dennis would wear,  _ he thinks, but then he shoves that thought away because no thank you.

Mary is holding a shirt up in front of him (“Why do have to check and see if it goes with my eyes, I don’t get it, who’s even gonna be looking at my eyes?”) when he hears painfully familiar voices nearby.

“Dude, you already have like forty button ups.”

“And you already have about a hundred shirts with the sleeves cut off, you don’t see me complaining. You know, I still don’t get why you don’t just buy sleeveless shirts.”

Charlie freezes, and Mary catches on to the situation pretty quickly. As much as she probably doesn’t want to deal with seeing Dennis, she seems more worried about Charlie than anything, which he really appreciates. They both scan for escape routes, but the section they’re in has three walls and a single opening to the rest of the store, so there’s no way out without being noticed.

“Just ignore them,” Mary whispers, and Charlie swallows thickly and nods.

“Listen, man, you don’t get it. If you cut it off  _ yourself _ , then people will know that you don’t conform to— holy shit. Charlie?”

Charlie gulps down his panic and turns to face Mac, who’s in full puppy-dog-eyes mode, and Dennis, whose face is carefully blank. (Charlie can tell it’s an act, though, because he’s gotten way better at reading people. Part of him is proud that even Dennis is this affected by Charlie’s absence.The other part of him wants to throw up.)

“Uh, hey,” he greets shakily. The two come closer, and Charlie catches a faint scent of booze and the mildew that probably flourished at Paddy’s without him there to clean it. He feels nauseous at the thought that he used to smell like that. He feels nauseous at how much that smell makes him think of home.

“Dude,” Mac says as he peers at him. “you look…  _ clean _ . And you have glasses. Wait, are you buying new clothes?” He seems to finally notice Mary, and his eyes bug out of his head. “With the  _ waitress _ ?! Dude, are you banging the waitress?!”

“We’re friends, actually,” Mary says flatly. Charlie wants to say that her name is Mary and that just calling her the waitress stopped being funny ages ago, but he knows that there’s no point in trying.

“Well, Charlie,” Dennis says coolly, arms crossed, “you seem to be doing quite well for yourself without us there to ruin it all.” Charlie tries not to flinch because he doesn’t want to give Dennis the satisfaction. “I bet you’re really glad you left us.”

The fact that Dennis is probably as afraid of abandonment as Charlie is makes him shift uncomfortably. He doesn’t know what to say, so Mary speaks up instead.  “Why don’t you assholes just leave him alone? You’ve messed him up enough already.”

Dennis waves his hand in dismissal. “Hush, you bitch, let the man speak for himself!”

“Don’t call her a bitch, you bitch,” Charlie mumbles, eyes on the floor. Dennis stops and his mask slips a little bit, just enough to see a glimpse of betrayal and surprise. Mac just stares. Charlie clenches and unclenches his fists, then rushes past them. “I gotta go.”

He hears Mary call after him, but all he can focus on right now is getting somewhere safe and alone. He doesn’t pay attention to where he is, only notices his heart thudding and his chest constricting and his feet hitting the floor. He blinks, and then he’s in the handicapped stall in the men’s restroom, curled up with his back against the wall and his hands knotted in his hair while he buried his face in his knees, glasses pressing into his nose uncomfortably. He feels bad because he knows Mary is probably stuck waiting outside. Unless she left. He wouldn’t blame her.

Charlie doesn’t know when he started crying, but his face is wet now, and he grips his hair tighter just so he can feel the pain in his scalp. He realizes that he’s hyperventilating, so he takes deep breaths and remembers Martha’s advice.

_ In through your nose… Out through your mouth… In through your nose… Out through your mouth...  _

He freezes when he hears the bathroom door open. “Charlie?” Mac’s voice is quiet but it echoes through the tile room, and  _ fuck fuck fuck I didn’t even lock the door to the stall fuck.  _ Sure enough, the door to the handicap stall swings open. His face is still in his knees, but he hears two pairs of feet enter cautiously.

“Shit, Charlie…” Dennis’s voice sounds closer now, so he must have crouched to Charlie’s level. Charlie curls in on himself tighter.

“You okay…?” Mac asks, and Charlie can almost sense Dennis’s incredulous glare, because of course he isn’t okay you goddamn idiot. “Can you at least like… uncurl a little? So we can talk to your face?”

Charlie hesitates for a second, then releases the death grip on his hair to move his hands to his knees and slowly raise his face. He sniffs, and he’s sure that his eyes are red and his glasses are smudged, but he doesn’t really care. Mac is sitting against the wall next to him, and Dennis is sitting in front of him with his legs crossed. They both look concerned and confused, and Charlie feels a twinge of guilt that he knows is misplaced, along with a sense of satisfaction that makes him feel even worse.

Dennis calmly asks, “Did you just have an anxiety attack?” Charlie swallows and nods. “Did  _ we  _ just give you an anxiety attack?” A pause, then Charlie slowly nods again, and Dennis sighs as his face falls.

Neither of the two seem to know what to do next, so Charlie takes a shaky breath. “You were right. I’m doing good…” He pauses and no one interrupts him, so he continues. “I started seeing a therapist. Turns out I have ADHD, dyslexia, anxiety, and borderline personality disorder.” Dennis’s eyes widen a little in recognition. “Probably a little PTSD, but we haven’t really gotten into that yet… But, uh, I don’t really drink anymore. Or get high. And I have a nice job, and a good apartment, and I started taking online classes and I’m doing really well with them.” He sniffs a little, then adds, “I took an IQ test after I started Adderall, by the way. 141. Looks like I’m pretty smart after all, huh?”

Dennis and Mac stare in shock, which quickly morphs into a weird kind of guilt. Mac is the one who speaks up. “That’s good, buddy, that’s… really good.”

Charlie starts to hesitate, but he’s too out of it to control his mouth. “I miss you guys. I’m still fucking pissed at you and I still think you’re all assholes, but I…” His eyes start watering again, so he scrubs at his face with his hand. “I’m really fucking lonely…”

Suddenly he’s wrapped up in a pair of arms with a face pressing against the top of his head, and he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Mac. He hears some shifting, then there’s another arm across his back and the gentle stroking of a thumb on his side. Mac whispers, “We’re really sorry, Charlie,” and Charlie comes completely undone.

He spends a good chunk of time sobbing in this gross public restroom with Mac and Dennis holding him, both silent but there for him. Once he settles down into sniffles, Dennis takes a deep breath.

“We did a lot of thinking after you left, and we realized that you were… right.” It probably physically pains Dennis to admit to that, so it really means a lot. “We’ve been assholes. That’s kind of just who we are. But you’ve always been a little less of an asshole, so I guess you just got the short end of the stick.”

“Dude, don’t call him an asshole.”

“What do you mean don’t call him an asshole, that’s not the point, Mac. Jesus. The point,” his voice returns to the softer tone it was using, “is that we’ve realized our mistakes. And rather than just shove it down deep like usual, we actually confronted it. We’re sorry, Charlie, and… we really do miss you.”

Charlie looks up at Dennis and notices that his eyes are watery, and he doesn’t even smell any onions. Mac releases his embrace to sit back down, an arm still slung around Charlie’s shoulder. “It’s not the same without you, man… And let’s be real, we all have some problems we should probably deal with, so maybe we can, like. Work on that. We’ll get better, Charlie, seriously, and this isn’t another stupid fucking lie that we use to get what we want.”

Dennis’s thumb is still moving gently and Charlie subconsciously times his breaths with it. He wants to forgive them. He wants to forgive them and have them all in his life again because they’ve been through too damn much together to give up now. He doesn’t know if it’s really a good decision, but he remembers that his gut is what led him to this point in the first place; it told him to leave and get better, and now it’s telling him that he’s ready to go back. For the second time in the last few months, and maybe only the second time in his whole life, Charlie knows what he wants.

He takes a deep breath to make sure he can talk without choking up and nods. “I could see about swinging by sometime.”

When the three of them finally leave the bathroom, Mary is waiting with a worried look on her face, and Charlie immediately envelops her in a hug. She rubs his back comfortingly before he pulls back and feebly jokes, “Lead the way, fair lady.”

She breathes out a relieved little laugh and leads him toward the registers. As he follows, Charlie looks back over his shoulder and gives Mac and Dennis a smile that’s so much smaller than the ones he used to show them, but means so much more.

* * *

 

“I ran into Mac and Dennis at the mall when I was with Mary.”

“Oh? How did that go?”

“We talked. Well I mean, I had an anxiety attack first. Then we talked. They apologized, and then they gave me this little speech. It didn’t even sound planned, that’s really something when it comes to Dennis.”

“And do you think that they’ve changed?”

“I dunno, maybe… They’re trying, at least.”

“Then what do you want to do? It’s your decision, Charlie. What do you think is best?” 

“Well… Paddy’s is gonna get shut down if someone doesn’t teach those guys how to clean.”


	4. IV; epilogue.

Charlie goes to Paddy’s Pub later that week, and Dennis and Mac don’t even drink while he’s there. He gives them little tips and tricks for cleaning, Dee compliments his new clothes (“You actually look put together for once! Are those real glasses or are you turning into a hipster? If you're turning into a hipster I'm losing all respect for you.”), and he tells Frank that he might get a pet. (“Just don't get a cat, Charlie, they're soulless.” “There's nothing wrong with cats, Frank, don’t be judgmental. Remember Agent Jack Bauer?  _ Indestructible. _ ”) (Charlie decides that he wants a lizard.) It's nice, actually. Really nice. They talk more like regular people and less like… whatever they were before.

He tells them that since he can't drink anymore (he’s just started anti-anxiety meds, for one thing), he's not actually comfortable spending a whole lot of time at a bar. Charlie half expects for them to shit on him, but they actually compromise for once. Mary has a new job at another café (she lost her retail job for keeping people out of the men's restroom for 45 minutes), and it only takes a couple of days of convincing for Charlie to get her approval of meeting the gang there once a week.

“And this’ll really make you happy?” she asks skeptically. “You’ve done so much better without them, Charlie, I just don’t wanna see you slip after all this.”

“That’s why you’ll be there watching to make sure everything’s okay! I’ll even try and set something up where you can like, give my therapist updates in case you think there’s a problem or something,” he assures her with a pleading smile. “C’mon, please? For me?”

She regards him hesitantly for a moment, then settles her her hands on her hips with an air of authority that kind of reminds Charlie of a mom. “You promise to tell me as soon as they do something that makes you uncomfortable?” Charlie nods intently, and she sighs. “Fine, but you’re only coming during my shifts.”

Charlie lights up with a grin that makes Mary look like she’s a little less cautious. “Can I hug you?” he asks, and only after Mary gives him the okay does he act on it.

It’s a good system, actually. The gang gets to be together again, and since they’re in a public place and Charlie isn’t going to escalate things like he used to, they tend to stay pretty casual and decently behaved. (When they do start to argue, Charlie is quick to defuse them. Dennis helps unless he’s involved in the argument.) There are a few days where he doesn't think he can handle it and has to reschedule, and his friends don't even get mad. He finds himself having actual conversations with them, ones that aren’t punctuated by yelling. He can jump between being simple-minded and using “Smart Charlie Talk,” as the gang has dubbed it, and no one even blinks.

They don’t get into schemes anymore—not with Charlie, at least. There’s still infighting, but Charlie doesn’t want to get involved, so if they meet one day and someone is missing or someone seems bitter, it’s none of his business.

He doesn’t tell any of them where he lives or works, but they all join a group chat and talk there. (Charlie’s getting a little better at reading and has a font installed to make it easier, but he assures them that he’ll start a group call if he’s having trouble.) He puts them all back in his contacts list and texts them privately every once in awhile, mostly Mac. Sometimes one of them will ask him if he wants to hang out outside of the arranged meeting day, so he’ll check with Mary and see when her shifts are. She eventually just sets up an online calendar.

He hangs out with her too, of course. He’ll visit her at work and vice versa, and even when they start only going to AA meetings once or twice a week, they meet up regularly to watch a movie or something. It turns out that they get along pretty well now that Charlie is somewhat aware of what's acceptable behavior. They laugh and joke, and it reminds him of sand between his toes and a broken piece of glass. (He still has that, actually, just for sentimental value.)

Charlie feels better now. He's validated and smart, and he isn’t lonely anymore, and he finally has the kind of friendships that part of him always wanted. For the first time in Charlie Kelly’s mess of a life, things are pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Charlie make the right decision in giving them a second chance? I honestly don't know, but I really can't imagine him giving up on the gang for good. I think it was Glenn who said that the gang doesn't seem to give a shit about each other, but if one of them actually died or something, the others would be devastated. Tbh I started writing a different ending where things didn't go so smoothly, but it just didn't feel right? Idk man.
> 
> This kind of ended up being like Charlie's transition into Newt Geiszler or something, oops (no regrets).
> 
> Also if anyone's curious, here are how Charlie listed his contacts:  
> Artemis: drama masks, winky face, thumbs up  
> Bookstore: books, clock, money  
> Dee: three different bird emojis  
> Dennis: devious-looking cat, sun (do u get it because like dayman), cell phone  
> Frank: pillow, credit card, old man  
> Mac: B), muscle arm, two guys holding hands  
> Martha/psychiatry office: pencil on paper, magnifying glass, pill  
> Mary: cup of coffee, dress, smiley face  
> Mom: woman, cookie, heart  
> Pizza place: pizza, thumbs up, cheering emoji
> 
> (If you enjoyed this, maybe consider [checking out my blog,](http://inquisitivelizard.tumblr.com) where I'll occasionally post updates on my various writing ventures. Thanks for reading!)

**Author's Note:**

> I always get sad thinking about how smart Charlie actually is. The dude's pulled some crazy genius shit, he's just kind of clueless and sheltered and gets influenced by the assholes he hangs out with. I mean I love the gang and all but I kind of feel like they'd be better off without each other, especially Charlie.


End file.
